Chapter 50: Her First Vengeance.

Chapter 50

The stone steps descended deep into the subterranean belly of the northern fortress, where the ambient temperature plunged and the damp air hung heavy with a familiar, metallic stench. As the sharp odor of stale blood reached Sigrid’s senses, a sudden wave of dark nostalgia washed over her. In her previous life as queen, she had spent countless sleepless nights in places precisely like this, methodically torturing prisoners to wrench state secrets from their lips or to punish those who dared utter treason against the Crown. Reaching the iron-reinforced cell where Lady Isabel was held, Sigrid paused outside the heavy door. Through the viewing slit, she observed the girl huddled in the corner. Barely two hours had passed since her capture, yet the once-haughty noblewoman was already broken, trembling violently in her ruined silks as sobs wracked her pale frame.

Turning to her husband, Sigrid requested softly, "Leave me to attend to her alone, Soren." The Duke’s icy blue eyes narrowed slightly as he shook his head without hesitation. "I shall not leave you unguarded in a cell with a prisoner, Duchess."

Sigrid tilted her head, her crimson eyes glinting with dangerous confidence. "Do not underestimate my capabilities, my Lord." Soren met her gaze steadily, his voice low and unyielding. "I do not underestimate you, Sigrid, but I will not leave your side." Sigrid offered a silent shrug, ultimately indifferent to his presence. Though she had briefly worried that her unleashed fury might cause her to speak of future events—exposing her knowledge of time before she was ready—she ultimately found a strange comfort in his quiet shadow. It amused her to watch him act as her protective guardian while he so painstakingly attempted to conceal his own brewing treason against the crown from her.

Stepping into the damp cell, the heavy iron door creaking softly on its hinges, Sigrid closed the distance between them. The moment Isabel’s tear-stained eyes locked onto Sigrid, her face contorted with hysterical terror. "Get away from me, you vile witch!" Isabel shrieked, pressing her back flush against the cold stone wall. Sigrid remained entirely silent, her dark red gaze cool and unblinking as she took another deliberate step forward. "This is unjust! Leave me be!" Isabel wailed, her voice cracking with desperate rage. "I do not deserve to be locked in this putrid dark! I did nothing wrong!"

Sigrid let out a low, aristocratic hum, looking down at the girl with sharp disdain. "Oh? Belittling the Duchess of Aethermor, hurling treasonous insults, and attempting to take her life with a blade... you truly believe yourself innocent of wrongdoing? Do you even listen to the madness spewing from your lips?"

Isabel’s eyes darted frantically around the cell as she babbled in blind panic. "It is only fair! You were supposed to suffer! That is what she promised—that is what Lady Maria said!"

Sigrid’s crimson eyes widened by a fraction, her mind instantly sharpening upon the name. "Who?" she demanded, her voice dropping into a lethal whisper. Isabel instantly froze, her face draining of what little color remained as she slammed both of her trembling hands over her mouth, realizing her fatal slip. "N-Nothing! I said nothing at all!" she stammered through her fingers.

What venom has that wanton creature been whispering into the ears of the capital nobility? Sigrid thought bitterly. Using her inner sight, Sigrid probed the surface of Isabel’s shallow heart, only to find precisely what she expected: a superficial void filled with trivial memories of petty gossip, courtly vanity, and the cruel pleasure of undermining other noble ladies. There were no grand conspiratorial schemes lodged within the viscount’s daughter—she was merely a foolish, impressionable puppet driven by jealousy and Maria’s subtle poison. Yet, Sigrid knew there would be ample time to deal with her stepsister later.

Looking down at the shivering girl at her feet, Sigrid spoke with absolute finality. "You shall answer for every single grievance you have inflicted upon me." Without warning, Sigrid brought her boot down sharply against Isabel’s ribs. The girl let out a breathless, agonizing gasp, collapsing onto her side. Sigrid did not pause; she kicked her again, and then again, her movements rhythmic, cold, and entirely devoid of mercy until crimson blood began to spill from Isabel’s split lip and bruised cheeks.

"Forgive me! Please, Your Grace, I beg of you, forgive me!" Isabel sobbed hysterically, curling into a tight ball on the filthy floor. But as Sigrid looked down at the weeping girl, she did not merely see the pathetic creature before her; she saw the same Isabel who had stood silently among the spectators during her execution in the previous timeline, watching with satisfaction as the blade fell upon her neck. "This is for your betrayal," Sigrid whispered darkly, striking her once more, the physical violence acting as a purge for the years of silent agony she had endured. "This is for leaving me to rot."

Only when Isabel was reduced to a bloodied, barely conscious mess did Sigrid finally step back, smoothing the front of her emerald skirts. Turning toward the stoic cell guard standing at the threshold, Sigrid issued her commands with icy precision. "Provide her with no food and only enough water to sustain her breathing. When it appears she is drawing her absolute final breath, throw her onto a carriage and dump her pathetic frame upon the front gates of her father’s estate." The guard bowed his head respectfully. "It shall be done as you command, Your Grace."

Sigrid turned and walked out of the dungeon corridor, her body aching with residual physical exhaustion, yet deep within her chest, a profound sense of lightness bloomed. As they reached the upper levels of the fortress, Soren gently halted her steps. Reaching out with a single gloved finger, he delicately wiped away a lone, stray tear that had escaped down her cheek. "Why do you weep, Duchess?" he asked softly.

Sigrid kept her internal thoughts tightly locked away. In her past life as queen, she had been forced to act with extreme restraint, never daring to show a fraction of her dark nature lest Ragnar view her as a monster. Yet Soren had stood beside her through the entire brutal display without so much as flinching. Meeting his steady blue gaze, she offered no explanation for her tear because she too did not understand wither, but Soren merely spoke into the quiet hallway. "To see one so young execute such cold violence is surprising, yet your eyes remain as clear as day. I do not pretend to know what quiet suffering or past grievances drove you to treat her with such severity, Sigrid, but she brought this judgment upon her own head."

A faint, genuine smile touched Sigrid’s lips. "Let us return, Soren." The Duke nodded approvingly. "Go and draw a hot bath, Duchess. Rinse the copper stench of blood from your skin before we dine." Soren departed toward his private study to attend to military affairs, while Sigrid made her way back to their master chambers.

Intending to call for an attendant, Sigrid paused at the threshold, realizing the iron smell of blood still clung heavily to her clothes. Deciding against summoning a servant, she unlaced her emerald dress independently, shedding her soiled garments onto the floor before stepping into the steaming porcelain tub. As she sank into the soothing, hot water, letting the warmth melt the lingering tension from her muscles, a sudden, overwhelming wave of dark amusement washed over her thoughts. She had claimed her very first vengeance in this new life. Isabel had paid her toll, and though many more enemies remained on her list, this victory was undeniably sweet.

Submerging herself fully beneath the water for a brief moment, Sigrid surfaced and let out a sudden, hysterical burst of triumphant laughter that echoed off the tiled walls. She stopped as quickly as she had begun, leaning her head against the rim of the tub with a soft, bitter sigh. "How utterly pathetic it was," she muttered to the empty room, "to have been degraded and executed by people I once bled to protect."

Before she could dwell further on the past, a sharp knock rattled the chamber door, and Lilith burst into the room with frantic energy. "My Lady! Why did you not summon me to prepare your bath?" the maid cried out, her eyes wide with concern as she rushed to the side of the tub.

Sigrid offered a tired, gentle smile. "Soren informed me that you were deeply shaken by the ordeal at the tea house. I assumed you needed rest."

Lilith huffed softly, wiping her flushed face with her apron. "Of course I was terrified to see you harmed, mistress! But that does not mean you may deem me useless. Besides..." Lilith leaned in closer, her voice dropping into a fierce, loyal whisper, "I know you just extracted your first vengeance upon that wretched noblewoman. I overheard the guards speaking of it. I may not understand everything they did to hurt you in the past, My Lady, but I should always be by your side to wipe the blood from your hands." Sigrid felt a genuine warmth settle deep within her heart. Looking up at her faithful maid, she smiled softly. "Thank you, Lilith."